


Opportunity

by Chaos_Elemental



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Homelessness, Marianne is great and I love her, Origin Story, Rescue, Sea Shanty II, varrock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Elemental/pseuds/Chaos_Elemental
Summary: What starts out as a pickpocketing attempt ends in a job offer.Or, how Marianne the maid met Teiran the adventurer.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a couple of years before the events of [A Hard Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702537/chapters/54259267). Because everyone needs an origin story.

There were really two ways to approach opportunity, the beggar-girl observed; either it appeared, gleaming in the folds of happenstance, or you carved it out for yourself.

Perhaps, now, it was a bit of both. Sure, it was sheer dumb luck that perhaps there would a rather affluent adventurer that so happened to be in this poorly-lit alleyway. And maybe it was a coincidence that the girl was there, too. 

However it had come to transpire, opportunity lay within her grasp. And it clinked and shone.

The girl was fast. Stick to the shadows, hone in on the half-clasped bag at the woman’s side, ease a hand under the cover, _quick, quick_ , find the coin purse therein, and, with utmost delicacy, begin to _pull…_

An armoured hand closed around her wrist, striking like a viper. The girl shrieked, stumbling back as she attempted to free herself; however, the grip on her arm remained ironclad.

She could get a better view of her would-be target now: bluish plate armour and a similarly-colored sword strapped to her back. A black-brimmed hat, barely holding back a rather wild shock of blonde curly hair. And an expression of carefully-measured curiosity. 

The girl attempted to curl herself away from her captor, balling her freed limbs towards herself as she vainly pulled at her arm. _Cover yourself,_ her thoughts whispered, between the shrieking panic of the trapped. _If she hits you, then it might not be as bad..._

“Calm down,” the woman said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl peeked at her from under her arm. “B-begging your pardon, m’am, I, I was just, um, returnin’ a-a, an, an item you’d gone and d-dropped on the fl-floor…”

“Like hell you were,” the woman said. “You’re a pretty good pickpocket, I’ll give you that. I could barely notice you, you’ve got a touch like a jeweller. What’s your name?”

The girl sniffed. “Um. M-m-Mary. Um. That’s what’s everyone calls me.”

“Mary,” the woman echoed. “Did you write this?”

She held up a square of cardboard, upon which was scribbled in charcoal,

“KWESTS, (GRATE PRIZES), PLEAS STEP HEAR”

A helpful arrow was scrawled below it, which, up until now, had been pointing to the very alleyway they were now standing in. 

Mary shook her head. “T’wasn’t me that wrote it, m’am. Not in the spirit. I asked Will Fairweather up th’ road to write it out in exchange for me teachin’ him to spit real far.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You told him to write that?”

The girl nodded. 

“Huh.” She put the sign down. “Do you have any parents?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You a runaway?”

“Wouldn’t have anything to run away from.”

“Hmm.” She looked Mary up and down. “Where do you live?”

“The gutter ‘round the rune shop on the east side, ma’am. Unless it’s raining. Then it’s the old half-crumbled house by the Church of Chaos.”

She slowly nodded. “Ok. I’m going to let you go in a moment —”

Mary began to tense, ready to bolt, but the woman continued. 

“ — but I’d recommend you stay here. I have a proposal for you.”

The look in the woman’s eyes seemed sincere, much as Mary doubted her. There were stories, of course, of propositions offered to young women in the streets that usually landed them in far more comfortable and worse places than a gutter could offer them; the clothes they wore were nice, to be fair, and they looked decently well-fed, but she would take sleeping in the rain over their hunted expressions when they stood on the street corners.

Then again, those propositions generally weren’t offered by women dressed like they were about to besiege the city. 

She felt steely-gripped fingers slowly uncurl from her arm. Mary didn’t move. 

“Do you need help getting up?” the woman said, gently. “I hope I didn’t bruise you.”

Slowly, Mary took the proffered hand, which lifted her to her feet with swift strength. 

“Here’s the deal,” the woman said. “Like I said, you’re a good pickpocket. You know how to use your hands well.”

Mary tensed again. _Here we go…_

“You’re a sharp one, too,” the woman continued. “Will’s spelling leaves a lot to want for, but considering the IQ of the average adventurer around here, you’ve got a clever little scheme going. Best one I’ve seen from a thief in a while, to be honest. You can clean stuff, right? Sweeping, washing, and all?”

Mary nodded, unsure where this was going. 

“I need a maid. One that can handle the fine china and doesn’t mind blood in the laundry or demonic sigils in the drawing room. Pay is 2,500 gp a week and Ivandays off, plus room and board. Can you cook?”

“Um… just stew…”

“Fine enough. You’d start tomorrow. Deal?”

Mary didn’t reply. Instead, eyes wide and legs wobbling, she sat down on a nearby crate and stared at the wall straight ahead. 

_2,500 a week…._ Was mind-boggling. She could barely comprehend anything more than 100 gold in her hand at once — that was worth a week of bread. And good bread, at that, not the sawdust-mix stuff they sold in the square… 

2,500 was a king’s wages. Hell, it was probably a king’s _ransom_ , for all she knew. That kind of money could buy her a house, maybe. A mansion. All the bread in the world…

“Take it or leave it,” the woman said. “If you’d rather not, I can try finding you a job elsewhere — the tea stall’s hiring people, last I heard.”

Mary shook her head. The owner probably had her face etched into his memory, considering how many times she’d pilfered a cuppa in the winter. 

This, however, was too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

It was too good. 

Too good to be true. 

When would she ever get a chance like this again? When some new quester came in looking for dragon bait, most likely. Offering gold and riches on some adventure to the north. She’d seen kids follow them along like ducklings, a cheap bronze dagger in their hands and hope in their eyes. 

Those adventurers nearly always returned, their armour soot-stained and their packs heavy with spoils. Their followers never did. 

“Um,” she said, her voice halting. “What if… I want to come back?”

The woman slowly nodded. She dug around in her pack and pulled out a clay tablet — one like she’d seen in Aubury’s — stamped with a _V_. 

“Snap it in half if you want to come back here,” she said. “I won’t come looking for you.”

Wordlessly, Mary took the tablet. She was tempted to snap it right now to test it, but she didn’t know if she’d get another.

She looked at the woman again. Her green eyes betrayed no trickery, but you never could tell with these types. 

She looked up. Cloudy. Probably rain later. 

Mary sighed. At the very least, she could get a warm bed for the night. 

“Ok.”

“Right.” The woman held out her hand again, which Mary took. “I’m about to teleport us. You don’t have a weak stomach, do you?”

“Um.. no, I don’t think so…” 

“Great. Hold on.”

The world shifted. Everything shifted: the air, the temperature, sound, light, her insides all twisted out of place, replaced by a strange roar and the feeling of weightlessness. A blue column enveloped them both, and for a horrible moment it was as though the ground pushed them upwards with dreadful velocity; then, just as quickly, it fled, unceremoniously dropping her down from a short height onto a scraggly patch of lawn.

Mary landed on her knees, retching; the meagre remains of that morning’s breakfast ejected themselves from her stomach. 

“Shit, sorry!” the woman blurted out, crouching next to her. “Oh hell, I should’ve reckoned you weren’t used to teleporting like that. Are you alright?”

“F-fine,” Mary sputtered, wiping her mouth. “I-I’m sorry, I-I’ve gone and mucked up your n-nice grass…”

 _Now you’ve done it,_ she thought hotly, holding back tears. _It’ll be back in the gutter now, and she’ll probably give you a black eye for all the trouble you’ve caused her…_

“It’s no matter,” the woman said, helping her back up. “Honestly, it’s not very nice grass. Nothing a bucket of water and a spadeful of dirt won’t fix. And, honestly, it could probably do with the fertilizer…”

Mary shook her head. _It’s an easy first day,_ she thought, thoughts swimming. _Don’t mess up like that again._

Now on her feet, Mary took a moment to survey the house in front her. She’d heard of the portalled ones before, and how they spanned for rooms and rooms and floors and floors, bigger than any castle or mansion could dream of…

This one was one floor. There was a dead tree in front of it. 

“It’s, uh, not that impressive,” the woman who had offered her a fortune in gold not ten minutes said. “And I’m afraid the inside might be a little, er, messy…”

The interior was at the very least furnished, even if it _was_ just a couple of crude chairs and a rather threadbare carpet. 

“Mind the sand,” the woman said, as the ground crunched under their feet. “I still need to tidy it up after that trouble with the demon…”

Mary decided not to pry further. Instead, she followed the woman through the sitting room, trying to avoid the scarlet gaze of the stuffed, hellish-looking dog’s head over the fireplace. 

The next several rooms were a blur, more twisting and nonsensical than any alleyway she’d encountered; she curled away from the walls and corners, wondering if something was going to jump out and snatch her. 

They ended in a kitchen, small and cramped, with a rather distressing amount of teacups piled next to the sink.

“Hungry?” the woman said. Mary nodded. 

“I’ll fix you something.” The woman turned around and started pulling things from the larder. “I never told you my name, by the way. It’s Teiran. You can call me that.”

Mary didn’t reply.

Lunch turned out to be a bowl of hot mince, which Teiran referred to as ‘chili.’ The spice burned her mouth initially, but it faded after a few bites. 

After that, she cleaned the plate in six seconds, thankful for the fact she didn’t have to chew through it much — _eat it fast, before anyone else gets to it._ When she was through she shoved the bowl away, catching the breath she didn’t take whilst she was devouring, thankful to have the sensation of food in her stomach again. 

Teiran raised an eyebrow. “You want seconds?”

Her eyes widened. She was allowed _more?_

“Yes!” 

She devoured the second bowl even more quickly, shoving her bowl in front of her and looking to Teiran again when she was through. Teiran, however, shook her head. 

“Gnome cooking is pretty heavy, you’re going to be sick again if you go for a third one,” she said. 

_Bother._ Some things just didn’t last. 

“Here, I’ll show you to your room,” Teiran said, taking the bowl. 

The room in question, when they arrived, made Mary wonder if there was some mistake; it was too _big._ The bed was too big. Everything seemed to be too big; the bigness of it pulled at her, almost making her want to run and hide. 

“Um…” she whispered. “Um… it’s nice…”

“Great.” Teiran turned away. “You have the evening to yourself. Bathroom behind the door on the side, there should be towels in there. I’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow, but for now some of Becky’s old things should be in the dresser. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Then, before Mary could protest, she left, shutting the door behind her as she exited. 

Mary looked around the room. It felt even bigger now, without that woman’s personality to fill it; the only furnishings within it were the bed, a small table, and a dresser. 

When was the last time she’d stayed in an actual room? Just after last Wintumber, when she’d nearly frozen half-solid before she scrabbled up enough money for a room at the Blue Moon. The innkeep had given her a world of dirty looks, the room had smelled of sour beer and the bed had been infested with fleas, but it was a good deal warmer than the world outside. 

The place, however, seemed to stretch to infinity. It smelled of dust and clean laundry; the bed had actual linen sheets on it instead of cheap hemp.

And a bath… 

She shook her head. One thing at a time. 

The chili in her stomach was now feeling unpleasantly heavy; that, and the sheer vertigo of the room and the day’s events was making her head spin. 

And so, she sank down to the floor, clung tight as she could in the vastness of the space she’d been given, and felt very, very small.

* * *

After about half an hour of consideration over the taps and wondering if she’d break something, Mary did manage, eventually, to take a bath. The water was admittedly far murkier when she was done, but Charlie always did say that a healthy coating of earth kept the lice away. 

Now, however, even that defensive barrier was gone; even then, she wondered if she was dirtying the sheets she was lying on with her very presence. 

She closed her eyes. It was too quiet. Too dark. The streets of Varrock were many things, but they were neither of those. There were always lights. Always sounds — people fighting, things breaking, dogs barking. The city never slept, and to her, it had been a lullaby. 

Why was she even here? Who was that woman? Why invite _her_ , a snotty little kid from the streets? She didn’t even have a last name. And a pickpocket, no less. How’d she know she wouldn’t rob the house the moment she turned her back?

This had to be a test. It had to be. 

And she was sure she would fail. 

* * *

Mary wasn’t sure what time she woke up the next morning; the strange dark room didn’t afford her a good idea of where the sun was, and she was more inclined to sleep late than anything else*

She scrambled out of bed with a start, digging through the dresser for anything remotely wearable — 

Black dresses and aprons, by the looks of it. She pulled one on; it wasn’t _too_ bad a fit, considering. Better than what she had before, in any case.

Teiran was down in the kitchen when she arrived, sipping a cup of tea and reading a newspaper. When she looked up to Mary, her eyes widened. 

“Oh, gods, I had no idea she left behind the uniforms,” she said, shaking her head. “Here, I might have a tunic or two, you don’t need to wear that damn thing —”

“Um. No. It’s fine, thank you. Um. Miss,” Mary said, face reddening. “It’s comfortable.”

“If you say so. Oh, and you don’t have to call me Miss.”

Breakfast was a subdued affair; there was toast and tea, the latter of which, Mary noted, her employer put an alarming amount of sugar in. _That’ll probably make the scrubbing harder…_

“Alright,” Teiran said, draining the rest of her cup. “I’m off to Piscatoris, they’ve got a sea-troll problem. You know how to sweep and scrub, right?”

Mary nodded. 

“Good. Take care of the dishes and dust out the parlour. I’ll be back by then. I’ve put away anything that might be dangerous, so you shouldn’t need to worry. If you finish early, then do what you like ‘til I’m home. Got it?”

“Yes. M — Um. Yes.”

With that, Teiran left. 

* * *

The dishes weren’t _too_ unmanageable, with enough hot water and soap; the tea-kettle was too hopelessly stained for Mary to really do anything but leave it on the rack. 

The parlour was considerably more difficult. The broom was covered in spiderwebs to begin with, and the first round with it over the floor sent a cloud of dust billowing upward. It took her the better part of an hour to make any progress, and the resulting dust pile could rival some of Varrock’s stray dogs in size and aggressiveness. However, when she was through, the floor was a good deal shinier, and the carpet could actually be identified as a colour other than Deceased Mouse.

With a sigh, she flopped down on the couch, rubbing the damp dust off of her face. 

_Is this how all adventurers live?_ she thought, wiping her hands on her apron. _Maybe she’s just on the odder side..._

As she moved, she felt a lump underneath her. Puzzled, she reached a hand between the couch cushions, feeling cold metal under her fingertips. 

Slowly, she pulled out a golden necklace, shining and untarnished despite its hiding place. It was heavy in her hands — it must have been a bar’s worth.

Six months food’s worth. No, a _year’s_ worth. Boarding at the inn for a winter. Good boots — not the kind that ended up representing an economic conundrum over monthly expenditures. Better clothes than the stuff in the donation bins by the museum…

But at what cost? This? Dust and grime and a bed and food every night? 

But how long would this last?

She had a future here. Perhaps. But how long would it be before she broke a plate or said something wrong and got kicked to the streets again? Jobs didn’t last. The innkeep’s trust only persisted so long. The store manager had shown her the door the minute she’d eyed a breadloaf for longer than permissible. _Sharp-Eye Mary,_ they called her in the streets, and that name stuck.

Better watch her, they said. Charity would earn a well-meaning shopkeep empty shelves and a broken window in the morning.

And it was true. Opportunity was fleeting in Varrock. If they didn’t trust her, might as well confirm their suspicions before they acted on them. And, at the very least, make away with something in the process.

The future was great and stretching and unknown. And the necklace in her hand felt a good deal more solid and certain. 

At this moment, she heard the door behind her start to open. Mary hastily stuffed the necklace back into the couch just as Teiran entered, stinking almightily of fish. 

“Hallo,” she said, taking off her hat. “Sorry about the smell. Nice job on the living room.”

Mary jumped to her feet, bobbing in an awkward curtsy. “Um, thank you,” she said. “Erm, what would you like me to do next?”

“Wait here. I’ll be out of the shower in a few ticks.”

A few ticks turned out to be about 10 minutes, during which the fish smell dissipated; in that time Mary sat on the couch, idly picking at her fingernails and trying not to think of the lump in the cushions. 

Teiran returned, now smelling considerably more like soap and less like oceanic refuse, and landed on the couch with a hard flop. 

“Dinner’s fish pie, I’ll have it heated up in a bit,” she said, taking out her bluish sword and an oiled rag. With measured movements, she began to clean it, the rag gliding up and down the polished blade with silent smoothness. “Find everything alright?” 

Mary nodded. “Um… it was rather dusty, miss. Will it be dusty this often?”

Teiran shook her head. “I haven’t been getting around to cleaning, is all. Er… you didn’t find too much sand, did you?”

Mary tilted her head to the side. “Erm… no?”

“Oh, good.” Teiran relaxed. “I was starting to wonder if it would ever come out…”

Then there was silence, punctuated only by the sound of cloth on metal. Mary coughed awkwardly. 

“Um…” she started. “What do I do now, miss?”

“Anything you’d like.”

Mary looked around the room, which was fairly bare. There was a bookshelf along one of the walls. She wondered, absentmindedly, if she should start a fire in the hearth. 

Teiran saw her expression. “You can nip outside, if you want to,” she said. “Rimmington’s quiet this time of year, you shouldn’t run into any trouble.”

“Outside…?”

“Out the portal.”

Marianne glanced at the garden. The purple gateway had intimidated her, and she’d overheard all a manner of teleportation horror stories from Aubury that involved missing limbs and green skin and whatnot. Regardless, she was somewhat certain that portals for nobs would likely be a bit stabler than some back-alley spell. 

At least, she hoped. 

The portal, thankfully enough, only granted her a staticky feeling on her skin as she passed through, as opposed to the stomach-churning shift from the teleport spell previously. In fact, she was more shocked by the chill when she stepped outside — evening had already begun to fall, and the usual fires and smokestacks of the city that heated the air were no longer present. 

She shivered, scanning the area around her. Everything was too _big,_ too _open,_ and that feeling of utter exposure came creeping back up on her. There were a few buildings in the distance, softly lit by inner candlelight through the windows, and a squat field of cabbages nearby. Off in the distance, she could see the walls of some city — white and gleaming in the dying light. 

Mary sank into the freezing grass, unsure of what else to do. The air shifted, carrying with it the whiff of salt — was that the sea? She’d only heard second-hand stories of it; that it was so big and incomprehensible that men could go drifting over it and never return. That it went on forever and only ended at the edge, and all the ships that reached there tipped over the side and were lost. 

She squeezed her eyes shut. The stretch of road she was next to was big enough. No need to fill her head with anything more vast than that. Instead, she tried to wrap her thoughts around the slowly creeping realization that she was very, very far from Varrock. 

* * *

Mary wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on that cold patch of turf; however, she did know that her limbs were quite stiff with cold, and dew had rendered her clothes damp when she heard the thud of boots behind her.

“Still out here?” Teiran said, sitting next to her and handing her plate. Mary couldn’t see the contents, but they were steaming, and they smelled of fish. 

Mary wordlessly took it, shoving a forkful in her mouth. It burned the insides of her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She scarfed down the pie slice, not letting it disappear from her hands before she finished it, then set the empty plate down on the grass before her. 

When her head cleared, she suddenly felt the heat of reprimand in her chest. “Um… I’m sorry, I probably should’ve cooked ya dinner…”

Teiran shook her head. “It’s your first day, and I haven’t gotten to shopping yet,” she said. “Besides, the folks at Piscatoris insisted.”

“That’s rather generous of ‘em, miss,” Mary said. 

Teiran chuckled. “The pie’s just the tip of the iceberg. The folks at the bank aren’t going to be happy with how many monkfish I’m going to be shipping in over the next month…”

She leaned back on her elbows, sucking in the air. “Different from the city, eh?”

Mary slowly nodded. “Um. Very.”

“It’ll take some getting used to. Took me a while to adjust to getting off my home island, trust me — shocked me the first time I walked five kilometers and I didn’t run into water.” She glanced up. “You can see the stars here, at least.”

Mary looked up, and her eyes widened. 

You _could_ see the stars in the city — fairly well, in fact, or so she’d believed. After all, how could the sky hold anything more than the sun, the moon, and a few plain pinpricks of light?

But now the heavens seemed to burst at the seams — spattered and crammed so closely that the sky seemed a light in an of itself. She could almost reach up and touch it, tear it away like it were a pretty cloth instead of something unreachable.

“The light from Falador ruins it a bit, unfortunately,” Teiran said, and Mary only half-listened, her eyes glued on the expanse above her that threatened to pick her up and tear her away from the ground. 

After about a minute, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. 

“Let’s go inside,” Teiran said. “The stars will come out tomorrow night. I promise.”

Mary nodded. Slowly, she rose, picking up the plate as she did, and headed back towards the portal — but not before stealing another glance at the endless, star-dotted sky.

* * *

She still couldn’t wash the image of it from her mind when Mary lay in bed that night. Could the world hold anything that big? To think she’d been intimated by _open space,_ she thought — but even then, the emptiness of her room still sucked at her, and her uneasiness didn’t dissipate.

Her belly was full. She’d done a full day’s work, and her body didn’t ache and she hadn’t been shouted at. Was this some sort of dream? If it was, it was quite a good one.

She wondered if she’d wake up in the gutter the next morning.

She closed her eyes, scraping her thumbnail on the underside of her forearm. There was pain. She was here. Right?

Her thoughts drifted. She’d probably have to make dinner the next night. Her employer didn’t seem picky, but working with a range instead of some back-alley fire would be a challenge. 

The living room might want sweeping again, and the fireplace, perhaps, a clean, especially as autumn descended…

And the couch. What of the couch? It was a decent couch. She needed nothing to do with it. Nothing at all with its cloth, or its contents, or what lay underneath…

How had such a thing ended up there, anyways? She should have brought it up. A thing so valuable as a gold necklace was likely some treasured heirloom. If she was caught even _touching_ it…

Now she was thinking about it. A good maid didn’t even contemplate that sort of thing, did they? It would burn in the back of her mind of all tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and if she told Teiran she’d ask her why she didn’t mention it earlier….

But it was night now. There was the tablet on her dresser. If she crept downstairs…

 _No. No, no, no, no!_ Why was this even going through her head? She had it good here. Better than good. This was the best she’d ever been. An unthinkable amount of money each week. Food and a soft bed and work that didn’t leave her ruined….

It was good. Far better than good. _Too_ good. 

If she stayed here any longer, she wasn’t sure if she could go back. 

The newly-beggared never lasted long on the streets of Varrock — whether it was by incompetence or pride, it all ended the same. When what was once a mattress became an alleyway, it soon became a grave. 

_The street’s a harder bed when you’ve had better,_ Charlie had told her. 

She sighed, sitting bolt upright and slipping out of the bed. Who was she fooling? This wasn’t her world, even if she ended up getting covered in grime and dust. She was a thief. A vagabond. As out of place as a dark wizard in the town square. 

Trust nothing, the streets had told her. Adventurers led only to ash. Charity led to hopeless dependence. She wasn’t about to be flung out with the bathwater.

The only person she could depend on was herself.

Silently, she slipped out of bed. Her old shoes were still by the dresser; so were her old shirt and trousers. She considered taking the maid uniform with her, but told herself it would be too conspicuous. 

The parlour was dark and quiet when she entered; quiet as the night, she slipped over to the couch, sliding her hands under the cushions. 

_Ease a hand under the cover, quick, quick, find the prize therein, and, careful,_ careful _, begin to pull…_

She freed the necklace from its hiding place, pausing only to listen for any other sound in the house.

Darkness and silence prevailed. With a sigh, she slipped the golden thing into her pocket and, quiet as the thief she was, slipped out the door and into the night.

* * *

It was raining in Varrock. It soaked her to the bone, cold and unrelenting, and Mary was only so quickly able to get under a sizable-enough overhang; in the end, every part of her became drenched. 

She huddled miserably under her little sanctuary. She’d faced rainy nights before; once, she’d woken to find herself halfway washed down the street by a sudden gutter flood. But now it seemed almost karmic, considering how not long ago she’d been in an actual bed.

 _No_ , she thought. That was as good and fleeting as a dream. No point in dwelling on it.

The thing in her hands, however, was real. Real enough to get food in her belly for the future ahead. That was all that mattered.

The sound of squelching footsteps made her look up; a hooded figure towered over her, rain slashing off its clock with a steady drumming patter.

She narrowed her eyes in the dim light. “Naff off, Ervin,” she said. “I’m not botherin’ ya.”

The man snorted. “Yer on Black Arm territory, Sharpie. You know better than that.”

She cursed under her breath. Damn and blast the teleport! It turned her round north and she went down the wrong bloody alley…

She sighed. “Lemme stay ‘til the rain stops. Please? I won’t go makin’ any trouble.”

Ervin grunted. “Fine.”

He turned to leave. However, something made him stop. His eyes narrowed. “Wotsit in yer hands?”

Too late — she tried stuffing it into her shirt, but his hand grabbed her arm before she could. The necklace glinted in the scanty lamplight, the raindrops making it glimmer all the more. She struggled to get away. 

“Nicked yourself a little prize, eh?” Ervin grinned, revealing a set of cracked teeth. “This little spot’s a rental, by the way. I think I’ll take the payment….”

“No!” she cried, swinging wildly against him. She heaved a kick towards him, and it managed to land in some soft spot. Ervin let out a howl and dropped her; she scrabbled on the slick cobblestone for a moment before getting to her feet, holding the necklace tight and bolting down the street. 

Ervin, despite his incapacitation, wasn’t far behind; she heard him thunder behind her, splashing through puddles and striking the cobblestones with heavy bootsteps. She urged her legs faster, even as they slipped over rain-slicked stone, hoping to put some sort of distance between them. 

_There!_ She knew that alleyway — there was a service ladder next to Lowe’s. If she made it in time, she could scrabble up and kick it away — 

She skidded, half-falling as she tumbled into the sideway, blindly grabbing for the rungs. Even though her fingers were freezing, she forced them over the bars, pulling herself up, to freedom — 

A heavy hand grabbed her by the leg, wrenching her down and sending her crashing to the ground. She tried to roll away, but a boot on her chest prevented her, pressing down and squeezing the air from her lungs. 

Ervin grabbed Mary by the shirt, pulling her up and slamming her against the wall. She kicked and squirmed, clawing at the arm holding her up; but her fingernails only met tough leather.

“You think you’re smart, little whore?” he said, grinning a yellow-toothed leer. “You think you can camp on my turf and not pay th’ price?”

He held out a hand. Wordlessly, Mary dropped the necklace into it. 

“Good girl,” he said. “Was that so bad? But you ran from me, and I can’t be havin’ _that_ ,” He grinned wider, the pocks and scars on his face glinting in the lamplight. “For _that,_ a little lesson is in order.”

He pulled back his fist. Mary flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as she waited for the inevitable blow — 

That never came. 

Ervin was making a strange sound. He was sucking in air with a sudden grasp, slightly gurgling; his grip on Mary’s shirt was loosening, and she felt herself slide down the wall to the ground. 

She opened her eyes. There was a blade sticking out of his chest. It was blue, tinged with streaks of red. 

Ervin fell to the side, breath rattling, before going still. Behind him stood Teiran, her expression unreadable under the shadow of her hat. Water pooled off the brim, sending an arc of water spraying around her, glistening on her armour. 

“Are you alright?” she said, her voice soft. 

Slowly, Mary nodded. 

“Good.” She reached out a hand, dripping with rain. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Mary shook her head. She stared at the hand, unmoving. 

“M— m— miss,” she said. “I — I ran away —”

“I know. I figured you would.”

Mary froze. “Then why…?”

“First off," she said. "I'm a liar. Secondly: I hired you for a reason.” She knelt down, eyes meeting Mary’s at the same level, and their green burned through the night. “I needed a maid who could handle an employer who brings in monster heads and smells like fish and accidentally summons demons in the parlour once and awhile.”

She paused, looking the alleyway up and down. “And... you didn't want to come back. Not really, didn't you? You don’t deserve a life like this. No kid does.”

Mary turned her gaze away, difficult as thought it was. “But… I… I took the necklace…”

To her surprise, Teiran chucked. “The gold one? I made that one by mistake when I was trying to craft a sapphire amulet. It’s worth a couple hundred gold at most. Small change.”

Mary looked back at her, eyes wide. Teiran’s expression, while friendly, seemed quite serious. 

“Um,” she said. “Do you want it back?”

Teiran shrugged. “You can keep it.”

She nodded. “Um. I’ll be going…”

“Do you really want to?”

Mary froze. The rain continued to spatter down in the alleyway. The sour yellow fog of a Varrock autumn concealed the cobblestones, carrying the stink of the sewers. The sound of breaking glass echoed in the distance — likely another brawl at the Blue Moon.

It would be a long night.

“I’m not going to force you,” Teiran said. “And if you want to come back here, I won’t stop you. But I’d rather you not. You’re not fated to the streets forever. And you did a damn good job of the living room.”

Mary paused. There’d be the too-empty room, of course. And the dust in the morning, and the impossible tea kettle, and perhaps the stink of fish….

And a warm bed. And food. And the field and uncountable stars. And this woman, who, though somewhat insane, seemed kind. 

_One week,_ she thought. _And I get to keep the necklace anyways._

Wordlessly, Mary took Teiran’s hand.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” Teiran said, pulling her to her feet. “You don’t suppose they’ll mind the body in the alley?”

Mary glanced over to the cadaver that had once been Erwin. “The charnel maids’ll have ‘im by dawn,” she said. “That, or the dogs.”

“Good, good.” She fumbled around in her bag, unearthing a teleport tablet. “Hold tight, alright? Hopefully you won’t lose your dinner this time…”

“Miss?” Mary said suddenly. Teiran turned to her, green eyes still glinting. 

“Yeah?”

“My name… um. People here call me Mary,” she said. “But… well… I don’t remember much about my folks. Not even their faces. But… I do remember my full name.”

She paused. “It’s Marianne.”

Teiran, at first, didn't reply. Then she grinned, slowly, warmly. 

“Marianne, eh?” she said. “It’s a good one. Would you like me to use that?”

Silently, Marianne nodded.

“Alright then.” She felt a hand clamp on her shoulder, heavy and reassuring.

One week, she told herself. She didn’t know what would happen in that time. But, somehow, through the rain and the cold and the stink of Varrock, she knew it would be OK.

“Marianne?” Teiran said. “Let’s go home.”

And then they did.

* * *

_*"The second-best beggar's breakfast is an extra hour a-bed." - Charles E. Trampin'_

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Marianne started out entirely as a throwaway character - hence the name. If you've read my main fic, you can see how that went :)


End file.
